


call me by my old familiar name

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Foisted upon the world, Gen, Lyric fic, M/M, Soul Punk, Wentz Angst, brainburp, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first time Pete heard Patrick's album, he locked himself in his bathroom and put his head between his knees." Because no one can go wrong with Wentz angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	call me by my old familiar name

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of playing with lyrics. Generally, the italics are taken from Soul Punk, egregiously out of context. The one quote that's obviously is a quote is from 'Death is Nothing at All' by Henry Scott Holland.
> 
> I just enjoy writing cliched fic. I promise, something original is coming soon, this just attacked me the other night and bam! angst fic.

There had been a falling-out, but never a big one. They'd been like any high-school best friends, "I'll text you" and "We'll stay in touch" falling out of lips casually, casually as long hugs on summer days before long sweaty sets.  
  
 _oh nostalgia i dont need you anymore_  
  
The first time Pete heard Patrick's album, he locked himself in his bathroom and put his head between his knees, thinking so hard that _emo is dead_ and trying and failing to prevent his eyes from spilling over onto the cold tile.  
  
Patrick's voice still sent chills up his spine, even if the words weren't Pete's, but now they were Patrick's, and Patrick was spilling himself out in his music, and Pete heard _i am i and you are you and whatever we were to one another we still are_ and _this is me as i have never been before_ because he'd been Pete's since he was a kid, and now he was him and Pete was still that emo kid writing lyrics in the corner and crying all over everything.  
  
Pete pushed repeat, and Patrick's lyrics, less convoluted wordplay and deep-seated metaphor and more straight-the-fuck-up, direct, filled his brain.  
  
"Can you be here right now?" Pete whispered to the empty bathroom, unable to hear himself over Patrick's voice telling him about his _guilty conscience guilty conscience_.  
  
***  
  
 _trick what if i need you now_  
  
 _trick_  
  
 _are you awake?_  
  
***  
  
He falls asleep waiting for a reply that hasn't come yet.  
  
***  
  
 _Pete, what's wrong?_  
  
 _I can be in LA in five hours?_  
  
 _Pete. Answer me you fuck._  
  
 _That's it, I'm on the next flight_  
  
***  
  
When Pete opens his eyes and Patrick is sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing a suit with no jacket and a bowtie and leather gloves and no hat and no glasses, Pete's first words are, "I liked your album."  
  
Patrick runs his hands through his ( _blond_ ) hair, spiking it up. It only makes him prettier. "Bullshit you did."  
  
Patrick doesn't have to say _i found you on the floor in a pool of your own tears with an ipod on repeat and a cloud of regrets/missedchances_. Pete could write a song that Patrick wouldn't sing.  
  
Patrick doesn't have to say it, because Pete's always been good at grasping the obvious, especially if the obvious is painful. "It stung," Pete admits, feeling his eyes curiously. They're puffy. He probably looks tragic. It's a role-reversal in the public eye, Pete the ugly stepsister. Pete's always known Patrick is the beautiful one, the one who's going to the stars and beyond. Pete? He's going to _Dancing with the Stars_.  
  
"It wasn't about you," Patrick sighs, and he rustles and then he's stretched out along Pete's side, expensive suit rumpling and bowtie going crooked. Pete presses his forehead to Patrick's and sighs, his breath fanning across Patrick's face. Patrick's nose wrinkles, and maybe, there, that's a flash of old Patrick. "Your breath is unfortunate."  
  
 _everybody wants somebody who doesn't want them_ and Pete's not sure who he's even thinking about.  
  
Pete blows more air out at Patrick, because, really, Patrick asked for it. Patrick grimaces. Pete runs the pad of his thumb over Patrick's temple, down next to his eye. "How long?" Pete murmurs, and Patrick says, "I've been wearing contacts since FOB split, Pete--"  
  
Pete cuts him off. "How long have you felt like--" He can't finish that thought. Patrick does it for him anyway, because Patrick has always done that.  
  
 _i'm not brokenhearted i'm just kinda pissed off_  
  
Patrick's face flashes through denial-anger-bargaining-depression-acceptance, and he just sighs. "We took a break, Pete," he finally says. "You do realize we're not actually _in_ a relationship, right?"  
  
"We could be," Pete blurts before he contemplates that.  
  
Patrick presses a kiss to his lips, chaste and lingering, then one to his forehead. "No, we couldn't."  
  
Of course he would do that, gently reject Pete. Pete doesn't get a lot of people rejecting him, no matter how out-of-left-field his propositions are. Of course it would be Patrick, and that, more than anything, makes Pete's chest feel a bit less tight, and he presses into the motion of Patrick's ( _leathergloved_ ) fingers carding through his hair.  
  
Pete wants to see Patrick naked, he wants to be able to examine every inch of Patrick, not to touch, just to look. He wants to see what's changed, what's different now. He wants to hear Patrick's voice wrap around his words, but more _Patrick_ in them, more _music_. He wants...  
  
He _wants_.  
  
"I have lyrics. Words. Lyrics, if you want them."  
  
Patrick's eyes slip closed, and he wraps his arms around Pete, tugging him tight against his ( _skinny_ ) chest. "Pete," he says, but Pete doesn't hear it, just feels it through the bright white shirt that's getting stained with the dingy remnants of tears. Patrick will probably be questioned about it.  
  
"Don't you think it's time for another try?" Pete whispers, because he knows Andy and Joe will drop their thing on a dime, and Pete's thing isn't going anymore. Patrick's the variable here, the glue that would piece the music back together.  
  
Patrick says, "Yes," and it sounds like _if i have my way i'm gonna stay here for life._

 


End file.
